


John Constantine the Shoe-Slut (Part 3)

by CombiningPowers



Series: John Constantine the Shoe-Slut [3]
Category: CombiningPowers, Constantine (TV), Hellblazer, Matt Ryan - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bathroom, Bukkake, Controlling, Cum Play, Cum Slathered Feet, Cum drinking, Damp Socks, Dimension Jumping, Enchanted Shoes, Enchanted Socks, Facial, Feet, Foot Fetish, Foot licking, Gangbang, M/M, Magical Hypnosis, Magical Puppeteering, Master/Slave, Orgy, Revenge Sex, Ripped Clothing, Roommates, Shoe Drinking, Shoes, Sock Condom, Sock Fetish, Socks, Used and abused, Worshipped, dirty socks, foot, musk, revenge fucking, rough, scent, semen play, shoe fetish, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 05:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombiningPowers/pseuds/CombiningPowers
Summary: Living with his new roommate, Dean Winchester, has been annoying for the blonde conjurer; Constantine always driven mad by the older man's magical antics. When a prank enchantment accidentally leads to an otherworldly orgy/gangbang for John, he returns back to the world with a spiteful vegenace; eager to teach his mischevious roommate a few lessons that he won't soon forget.





	John Constantine the Shoe-Slut (Part 3)

"Goddammit where are they? Every single fucking time!" seethed an immensely irritated John Constantine as he angrily marched around the messy studio apartment, searching desperately for his socks and shoes which had magically disappeared right before he was scheduled in for a lucrative contract, frantically checking his watch and fuming as the seconds ticked away. It wasn't often that he was called in by name for conjuration-detective work so the 38 year old was rightfully pissed off as he gradually turned the loft upside down, throwing pillows, clothes and all manner of clutter in an attempt to unearth his sole pair of shoes; bare feet sweating as the clock on the wall continued to taunt him with its noisy, incessant ticking. "DEAN! Where the fuck are my shoes!" yelled the blonde man loudly as he thought about legging the moderate distance barefoot, head frantically darting from corner to corner; the shoe-less idea blossoming the more he thought about it.

"Hmm, what's happening?" asked a groggy Dean Winchester as he opened the door to his room in the apartment, the spacious inside blacked out as numerous curtains snuffed out even the smallest trace of pesky sunlight. The 40 year old demon-hunter was shirtless as always and reeked of both sweat and sickly incense, most likely recovering from a stakeout, hangover or otherworldly battle that John was unaware of; the two roommates living on different schedules as they tackled their supernatural problems on their own terms. "You could be a little less loud you know, or plan your day ahead," mumbled Dean as he casually wiped the sleep from his glistening eyes, yawning loudly and dodging the couch cushion that was immediately thrown his way. "Or maybe you could get off your ass and clean this dump every once in a while," yelled Constantine as he finally gave up, slapping his forehead with his hands so hard he probably gave himself a concussion.

"Is that them over there?" asked the sleepy man as he pointed to a small space next to a small set of drawers, a small smile crossing his lips as he once again came to the rescue. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me," spat the late man under his breath as he sprinted towards the un-checked area, slapping himself across the cheek as punishment for being so daft and ignorant at critical moments. "Happy to help," jested Winchester with a small bow, stirring the shit out of his roommate and relishing every single second of it; leaning against the door-frame as he watched the trainwreck unfold. "Is that what you say to your brother after you suck his cock?" fumed John with a cheeky smirk as he slipped on the dirtied pair of socks, pulling them recklessly over his size-12 feet, straining as he stretched the blackened cotton. Dean's handsome, bearded face soured and he bit his lip hard at the remark, regretting getting drunk with Constantine a few weeks back and spilling the beans on his private affairs.

"I don't even think these are my socks, but I don't have time," whispered a loopy Constantine to himself as he essentially kept his sanity in check, scared to check his watch for fear that the apocalypse had already begun by the time he left the door; shoving his wrapped feet into his brand new leather shoes while ignoring the annoying laces which danced around on the floor, making a mental note to not trip over and die on the way there. "You owe me a new pair of socks," jokingly demanded Dean as he closed his room door and headed towards the kitchen, eager for a beer or spiked coffee if the afternoon was hopefully creeping up. "You owe me rent pretty boy, turns out not charging for your services doesn't put a roof over your head," bantered John as his mood slowly began to improve, glancing a sneaky glimpse of his barely clothed roommate, feeling a small bulge begin to emerge from his briefs; obscured by his notable trenchcoat of course.. "Yea well ... whatever, it's too early," attempted Winchester before giving up, stretching and moaning loudly in an attempt to give his soul a hearty wake-up call.

The two hadn't been roommates for very long, but John was grateful to have some company every now and again; especially someone well-versed in the other side of reality, tired of having to explain very basic concepts of evil and demons. Also wasn't an issue that the slightly older man was quite the catch, providing valuable eye-candy after a bloody day of thwarting sacrifices and rituals. Constantine wondered if the other man felt the same way, though it was pointless to play the school-yard gossip. Knowing his luck, Dean and him will fool around when drunk and then one of them will probably die or move out, whichever comes first. Finally ready and already quite late for his scheduled meeting, John headed for the door, stomping across the wooden flooring to press his toes into the very edges of his battered loafers.

"Pick up some milk," yelled the 40 year old as he closed the fridge door, sighing as his stomach grumbled and demanded breakfast. "Fuck off, you have the day don't you?" harmlessly retorted John as he briskly exited the apartment by the fire escape, a cold wind immediately smacking him in the face. "Figures," mumbled the man to himself as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, carefully clambering down the metal steps, grateful that he took the time to quickly tie his laces. Weirdly, despite freezing from his legs upwards, the man's feet were particularly warm and even hot, John looking down to check that he wasn't wearing toasters or some other sauna-like device. Brushing it off as both anger and irritation from his dreadful morning, the man continued on with his journey; eager to see what dastardly plots laid await, unaware of the crazy day he was about to experience; all thanks to his unusually warm, sweat-inducing shoes.

-

"So I must warn you Mr Constantine, any items or weapons of a magical nature will ... trigger ... whatever is wrong with the room. We had a few of our own workers go in with charms and various other apparel, only to disappear into whatever time-dilation is taking ahold of the space," explained the large, horned businessman as he held out a cloth bag, gesturing for the conjurer to deposit his equipped items; like a mythological TSA checkpoint. It was strange to see a Dryad wearing human clothing, working in an office of all places; but John was complacent that the aged tree-humanoid was doing his best to integrate with society, even if he was kept well away from the public sections of the workforce. "What's to say that this isn't a trap and you're just trying to disarm me?" carefully worded the blonde expert as he squinted his eyes with suspicion, having experienced more than enough ambushes to last an entire lifetime.

Though he was expecting maybe a cordial explanation or an angry barragementhn was instead caught off guard as the horned humanoid dropped his bag, whipped out a pistol from his suit-pocket, pointed it straight at his head and pulled the trigger without hesitation. A loud click sounded from the weapon and John, stunned as to what just happened, could only blink and take a step back, almost falling as his shaky legs gave away. "If I wanted you dead Mr Constantine, you would be dropping to the floor right this second. As you can see, you are still perfectly alive and healthy," resounded the incredibly calm employer as he crushed the fake plastic gun with his root-like fist fist; John still catching his paused breath after failing to protect himself.

"Well ... you've made your point. Can't say I trust you after all that, but you're honest at least," admitted the blonde conjurer as he started to pull out a slew of accessories and talismans from his iconic trenchcoat, the pockets seemingly endless as he continued to deposit them carefully in the bag. "Can I put this in a separate one? This tends to ... explode if its near this piece," rattled the undressing conjurer as he easily filled 3, nearly 4 cloth bags with dangerous goodies; sighing deeply as the laborious chore never seemed to end; 20 minutes passing before he was content with his current status, patting himself down just to make sure.

"Your clothing? I'm not asking you to strip, but if you require un-enchanted variants of your current ensemble, they're at your disposal," finalised the Dryad as his metallic green eyes scanned the emptied human from head-to-toe, his bark-like skin twisting as his leafy brows furrowed in concentration. "Nah, I don't really fuck around with those mate, last thing i need is an enchanted tunic coming to life and trying to strangle me," joked the 38 year old as he showed off his remarkable ordinary tie, coat, pants and dress-shirt, even showing the tags to show that they were from Earth and not some alternate dimension where clothes were possessed by the spirits of the dead or other such nonsense.

"Hmm, your loafers are emanating something strange? But I can't quite tell," resounded the horned humanoid as it felt up one of its bulky arms, the muscles appearing as if intricately carved from the strong foundation of an oak tree. "My shoes? They're just ... shoes, simple leather and laces; bought them last week. What are you a pixie all of a sudden? I didn't think Dryad's could sense magical radiation," fought Constantine as the charade continued, slowly boiling over how long the process was taking. He hadn't even accessed what the problem was. The green-eyed creature looked up quickly, eyes sneering from the small insult, taking a deep breath and allowing the rich oxygen to permeate its plant cells.

"You're right, probably just leftover from ... all that junk," pointed the creature at the several bags worth of apparel, turning on its heel and heading down the basement corridor, gesturing for the hired expert to follow. John quickly followed, running and even walking a lot faster now that he was significantly lighter, feeling as though he could fly if he jumped high enough. "Anything else you can tell me before I go in?" asked John as he realised he also left his cigarettes in the bags, swearing under his breath as the urge to smoke crept back into frame. "Not much else besides the disappearances and magical rejection, that IS why we hired you after all," snarled the Dryad as it power-walked to the destination, a few leaves falling from its hair and onto the carpet behind them. "Fair enough," replied the 38 year old as he clasped his hands together, whispering a few warm-up chants in case he needed some spells, his feet still unusually warm and smouldering to his size-12 feet.

-

"A bathroom, how original," muttered the magician to himself as he paced around the affected space, glad to be rid of the horned humanoid after spending more than enough time. To be fair, he did have a soft spot for handsome, masculine entities of different species but at the same time, he wasn't about to fuck a tree anytime soon. His footsteps echoed throughout the tiled room as he walked about, soft clicks vibrating from the solid heels of his new shoes. "Seems pretty normal, though I guess its a bit big for a basement bathroom," talked the man out loud as he analysed the surroundings with his unique lens, knowing that a lot of magic could be hiding under the surface, just out of sight.

One wall was covered in a literal line of stalls, opposite a line of sinks; a large open space nestled between the two areas. Wiping his finger across the tiled walls, peering deeply into the large, solid mirror and checking each and every cubicle for any clues or evidence, John was soon left with absolutely nothing at all, sighing out of frustration as the minutes ticked away. It was completely ordinary and yet ... he could sense that something was wrong with just about everything; mostly assured that it wasn't just his precognitive bias feeding a delusional sense of presence. "Wonder if Dean would know something," thought the paranormal investigator as he racked his brain, spinning on the spot and darting his gaze from wall to wall.

"Wait, what?" suddenly interjected John as he thought he spotted something in the large, polished mirror, spinning around to see if someone had snuck up on him. Nothing. Turning back though, the blonde conjurer was greeted with a strange sight, a crowd of strangers that instantly disappeared when he blinked, not having enough time to properly discern their appearance. "All right, now things are getting interesting," spoke Constantine out loud as he tried to recreate the strange occurrence, feeling his shoes begin to heat up out of the blue; weirdly uncomfortable and warming his feet within.

Looking down, the 38 year old was incredibly shocked to see his leather loafers begin to glow and smoulder with an ethereal glow, small purple symbols shining from the polished black texture. Trying to take them off, John burned his hand slightly as he mistakenly touched the magical surface, cursing loudly as he stuck the affected finger in his mouth, sucking on it to quell the irritation. "What the fuck?" hissed Constantine as he tried to kick them off, his attempts futile as if the apparel were now bonded to his skin at the cellular level, now a part of him. He didn't understand why or what was happening, but things only descended further as the seconds ticked by.

The runes and symbols continued to glow and pulse wildly on his footwear, the bathroom slowly brightening up as the magical aura and effect triggered whatever disturbance was present. It felt as if helicopter lights were turning on from all directions, John covering his eyes as the intensity only increased. Trying once again to pull the shoes off, wrapping his sleeves loosely around his vulnerable hands to protect them from the fiery leather, the confused and desperate conjurer looked once again into the mirror by sheer coincidence, a bright flash exploding and singing his retinas as soon as his gaze met the reflective surface. "AHH FUCK!" shouted John as he felt the blinding light consume him, falling unconscious as his brain failed to effectively distil the powerful and magical stimuli.

-

Stirring awake after god knows how long, John quickly brought himself off the cold, tiled ground, breathing deeply as a state of panic swept over him. "What the fuck was that!" exclaimed the barely conscious individual as he wiped some sweat from his forehead, looking around the bathroom for any changes and disturbances. All seemed normal, but he now knew that it was just a trick or some other illusion. "I've gotta get outta here, come back with Dean maybe," thought John as he eyed the door, confused as he felt something strange overcome him. It was tricky to describe but the blonde demonologist began to notice that all his actions since waking up were ... not his own, the sweat wiping and pacing ... not belonging to him.

His body was acting on its own, separate from his thoughts which were still very much present, his nerves failing to respond to his administrative command. "C'mon what the hell? I'm leaving," yelled the 38 year old as he tried once again to move his arms and legs towards the door, his limbs unresponsive but still active, walking about like before the flash happened. It was terrifying to say the least and with every passing second, the man grew more anxious about the predicament, unsure of what could cause such a mysterious, body-trapping jinx. "The shoes!" blurted John as he remembered what happened right before, trying to reach down to take them off but once again, finding himself in an awkward position, his hands resting on his hips as if nothing was wrong.

Things took a turn for the worse when his body began to walk briskly towards one of the stalls, all attempts to pause or change course failing to take root. The sounds of his covered feet tapping against the tiles sounded and echoed out, the door to the cubicle screeching as the un-lubricated hilt was opened. With the seat already down, John found himself taking a seat on the ordinary, clean toilet, resting his chin in his hands as the stall-door closed on its own. "What is this? Am in a time loop? I didn't do this though," spoke Constantine coherently to himself as he kept the resting position, still fighting against himself for control, mentally exhausting himself in the process.

Suddenly the sounds of the bathroom door opening caught John's attention, his head perking up, though it wasn't because he willed it. "Hey, is someone there? Can you help me? Something's gone wrong, get the Dryad in here" yelled John as his eyes began to flicker and dart around, still bolted to the toilet as if waiting for something or someone. Footsteps like his own echoed throughout the room, several pairs if the bewitched magician could believe his ears. "I'm serious, im at the end here. Someone better fucking help me or I swear I'm gonna lose it," shouted the man, cursing loudly as no one seemed to pay him any mind. One by one, he could hear the other stalls begin to open, their combined shrieking dulling his ears like an awful orchestra.

"Oh no, what's going on now," muttered the irritated demonologist as he felt himself moving again, his arms reaching down towards the ground. His loafers, no longer glowing or pulsing with the unknown symbols, didn't burn his hands as he began to undo the laces; though he could still clearly feel the expensive leather on his fingertips. "Ok, so i can still feel things, i just can't control my body," sighed John as he just realised that he could smell the scent of stale soap and the cold on his skin; piecing together the mystery one jigsaw component at a time. Massaging the material with his fingers while bending forwards, small moans escaped the man's maw, unintentional of course as he quickly restrained himself. Then again, it wasn't like anyone else was paying attention to him or his earlier pleas.

"Whoa," yelled Constantine after a few seconds of gentle foot-rubbing, his right leg stretching away from him towards the stall, his foot and shoe now crossing the bathroom boundary of his stall. It didn't make sense as to why his body was behaving in such a manner, but it was most likely temporary; or at least, hopefully it would pass before he got himself into any trouble. Though he couldn't crane his neck or move his head to get a better view, he could still see the floor from his seated vantage point, still trying to pull his leg back into place. Suddenly though, hands started to reach down from the other stall, gently caressing his shoe in the same way he did before. "Sorry mate, can you maybe push my foot back? My legs fallen asleep," politely asked John towards the unknown figure, a little perplexed as nothing seemed to transfer.

The stranger's hands began to touch and prod his shoe with growing intensity, digits massaging the boiled leather and the sweaty foot within, "Hey, keep your hands to yourself!" demanded the helpless conjurer as his limb was touched and played with like a toy, powerless to stop the actions as his words seemingly existed in a vacuum. He felt his body begin to heat up as the strong but gentle foreplay continued, his loins stirring with soft moans escaping like before. His feet had never been this sensitive on their own merit, but whatever was happening to him was probably to blame. In the weirdest way, the stranger touching his shoes may as well haven been tugging on his balls or stroking his shaft, the sensations so overwhelmingly intense that the man had to do his best to stop himself from moaning and gyrating like a whore in heat.

Pulling the loafer from his socked feet, John recoiled internally at the strong, sweaty aroma that wafted upwards from his foot, the earlier heat definitely not helping. "No, don't touch my foot mate, and give me back my shoe," whined Constantine as his sock was now the prime target for the stranger's careful assault, thick fingers prodding the material and area with meticulous detail. It felt like a professional massage, only more crazed since he was in the basement bathroom of a mystical business, getting touched by a pervy creature of hybrid of sorts. "Oh fuck," whispered a hushed John as the unknown figure began to focus their attention on the gaps between his sweaty toes, rubbing his damp socks into the sensitive skin as if cleaning with a rag.

"Wait, these aren't mine. These are Dean's," mused the 38 year old to himself as he just noticed the black silk socks, remembering that while he was rushing around this morning, he didn't have time to wear his own. "The symbols, the heat ... it was DEAN!" yelled the man as he also realised that it was his roommate who found his footwear that morning, his shoes just so happening to appear after he woke the man up. "Oh that little fuckwit, he must've done something to my kicks," fumed Constantine to himself once again as he wished and prayed for his body back, even willing to break off another piece of his soul just so he could walk home and punch the man in his smug face. He doubted his roommate planned this whole event, but his lack of transparency now cost him the use of his body.

-

"What am I doing, don't pass the other one along, what?" narrated John with confusion as he could only watch as his physical self kicked the remaining shoe under the stall to his neighbour, the pair of hands reaching down to grab them. "Hey buddy, can you give me a hand. Wait, no, that came out bad. Can you come in here and help me out, this is a medical problem," shouted the trapped demonologist, wondering why no one had chastised him for yelling or moaning earlier, unsure if everyone was just incredibly tolerable or downright deaf. There was no response in the slightest, but he could hear ragged breaths and small gasps coming from the other side; John unsure one again as the whole situation continued to snowball away from normality. He had been in weirder situations before, but this occurrence was slowly rising to the top as the list expanded.

"Ahh yea!" suddenly moaned a male voice, Constantine sure that someone was masturbating and/or orgasming near him, slightly turned on by the impromptu bathroom fraternisation but more irritated than anything as his words somehow disappeared once they left his mouth. The sound of shuffling shoes squeaking against the tiles and the unbuckling of jeans and zippers was the only thing that echoed about, that and the sounds of more men moaning and groaning. The 38 year old couldn't deny that the constant streams of raw, male pleasure fuelled his growing erection, his prized penis still luckily within his sphere of sensation. He could feel it pushing against the front of his suit pants, desperate to get in on some of the raunchy action, the man only now noticing the distinct smell of cum on the verge of his senses.

His hand, still out of his control, reached down towards his covered crotch, fingers stirring in small circles around his leaking helmet through his clothes, the blonde magician moaning and panting slightly as his breathing rate increased. It felt as if someone else was touching him, even though objectively he knew it was his own hand, his own body. Still, if there was anything he was going to get out of this, it was going to be at the very least a unique orgasm. The shrill and powerful moans only grew more and more fervent as time passed, the odour and cloud of cum soon spreading throughout the sealed bathroom; an intoxicating bouquet to the mischievous and horny conjurer.

"You know lads, I could use a good blowjob right about now. Does anyone want to take my offer?" dirty-talked Constantine as he tried to seduce someone to come and help him out, his earlier pleas failing but maybe his new one would break the ice. There seemed to be a clamour from the other stalls, the 38 year old biting his lip as he continued to touch his leaking cock through his clothes, hoping that someone would take him up. "How about someone come and fuck me. Is that more up your alley? I'm at the end and I could do with a hard banging," continued the horny man as sweat began to form on his brow, his feet practically swimming in a pool of trapped sock-sweat, twitching and drowning in the warm, salty fluid.

In the midst of his problem-solving, John felt a sticky warmness cover his foot which had been ignored in favour of his kicks, looking down to see a messy splotch of cum draped across its surface. "Did you just cum on my sock?" asked John in a confused and shocked tone, unsure if he should be flattered that his dirty-talking offer was intense enough to get someone off, or if this was some gross way of communicating their desires. Regardless, it was a weird moment to live in, though; coupled with his earlier wants of bathroom sex, a little cum was just enough to help the man along. The thick torrent was etched across the wet surface like an abstract painting, the contrast between the black silk and the pearly-white semen making for an erotic sight. It wasn't the first time his feet were the canvas for another man's sticky paint, but he did wish the session was carrying out under different circumstances.

"What's happening now," thought the blonde man as he reached down once again, FINALLY having his foot back in his own stall, a trail of fluid following behind his socked limb as it was dragged back to his territory; like a snail's trail. His fingers, curious beyond anything were already touching and playing with the damp, wet area, smearing the cum around the front of his socks like mixing paints on a board. It felt completely normal to the man and out of everything that had happened in the last 40 minutes or so, this was the most normal. Pinching the area and scooping a decent amount on the edge of his fingertips, his uncontrolled hand brought itself up to his lips and shoved itself into John's open mouth, the man squirming as he was force-fed cum from his wet socks. Whining slightly as his hand wiped the thick substance on the roof of his mouth and across his wavering tongue, the hand retracted and went back down for seconds. The taste, like all cum, was salty and savoury; a delicious concoction that the 38 year old loved more than cigarettes and whisky. "If you want me to drink it, just do it, no need to get rough," conversed John grumpily to his free-thinking 'body' as he licked his lips and swallowed the batter down, the aftertaste of both shoes and socks still lingering on his taste-buds.

Seeing a hand under the stall appear next to him like before, John waited for the next move to happen, remembering that not everyone was freely comfortable with dirty bathroom sex like he was. Instead of a penis maybe jutting into his side of the stall, the hand simply pushed a pair of kicks back, John taking a second to realise that they were HIS shoes from before. It took a while simply because the footwear looked completely changed, now covered and slathered in a thick layer of cum, the black surface now stained with a pearly cream colour. The 'collection' of semen inside the loafers literally swayed as the shoes were pushed back to his side, signalling that they were filled to the brim with the salty batter, John unsure if he should be flattered or horrified by the re-gifting.

Broken and half-empty condoms were stuck to the front end and draped over the heel, breaking apart the white and black contrast of shoe-to-cum. The aroma was intense and for good reason too, John estimating that everyone in the bathroom must've busted their loads onto or into his expensive, new shoes; the moans from earlier taking a whole new meaning now that he knew. "Is this some sort of game? What the actual fuck?" yelled Constantine as he continued to eye the bukkake'd loafers, his hand still touching his crotch against his will. There was no response, as always, though it did seem that the others were finishing up on their end, the rustle and bustle of pulling pants up and closing zippers echoing about.

Before he could demand an explanation once again, John found himself oozing onto the floor, his body carefully transitioning from sitting on the toilet to crawling on the tiled floor. His palms felt tingly against the cold tiles and his knees took quite a shudder as he slumped down, now on all four's like a dog in his cubicle. "Wait, no, don't tell me, no," muttered John as he felt his head begin to lean closer and closer to the messy crime-scene, the concentration of thick, creamy sludge now coating his nostrils; a salty sting penetrating his nasal cavity. It wasn't an unknown stench of course, but at this distance and with god knows how many loads accumulated into one place, it was eye-watering and the 38 year old found himself coughing slightly.

If there was ever a time to suddenly snap out of his physical coma, now would be the time; but alas, things are never easy for the Master of the Dark Arts, his body not even hesitating to lick the semen from the loafers. His words were caught in his throat as his mouth was put into action, his tongue the paintbrush that eagerly scooped and lapped at the greasy footwear, small moans escaping his maw in-between deep licks. The pungent taste flooded his taste-buds. and John found himself unwillingly swallowing the tainted cum, like the ultimate submissive pup in a sex-dungeon. His mind was screaming for him to stop but like before, his words fell on deaf ears, continuing to service the two shoes without hesitation or pause.

He was no stranger to cum but this was overwhelmingly boisterous, the different loads culminating in one thick sludge that slid down his throat at the slowest pace. Each cum-shot on its own was like a spice, distinct and tongued with its own flavour; but this was a stew of salty mud, the man gargling the plastered semen as if it were the last drops of water on Earth. He was gasping for air and something to cancel out the taste as his body just kept forcing more and more into his unwilling mouth, the shoes still coated in a mountain of white cream. "Fucking hell!" seethed Constantine as one of the condoms was picked up from the heel and thrown into his mouth, his hands covering his lips to prevent him from simply spitting it out. He could literally feel the chewiness of the rubber on the insides of his mouth, hidden reserves of semen trapped within the coiled folds spilling down his gullet. He had never felt so broken and depraved in his entire life, the bathroom floor covered in his mess of cum and saliva which had dripped down from his beard and chin.

-

"Look what we have here boys, seems there really was a salt-shaker back here after all," suddenly interjected a new accented voice, the door to John's stall opening to reveal a crowd of half-naked men, dressed in leather apparel as if they were in a typical dive bar. Spitting the wet and drained condom out onto the floor, John looked up with moist eyes as the men surrounding his stall looked on him with disdain and interest, some smoking their cigarettes as they tried to catch a glimpse. "Wow, you really are a sick fucker aren't you? Seems you're thirsty for more if your cum-soaked lips and clothes are any indication," teased the stranger in a thick and distinct accent as he began to touch his bulge, a clearly distinct imprint emerging from his leather jockstrap.

"You aren't going to believe the day I've had ... wait, you're all human?" answered John before he noticed that everyone behind the talking man was also remarkably human, unsure if it was just a coincidence or something else. "Well of course we're human, you never been to Texas before? Guess all that cum really went straight to your brain," laughed the man as he jostled to his friends, licking his lips as he conversed with the 'salt-shaker' he found in the bathroom. Cocking an eyebrow and looking down at the man's feet, Constantine noticed that the bathroom tiles from before had changed, the patterns and colours completely different from before he entered the stall. It clicked that this must've been in the time-dilation that was mentioned ... which probably had a bunch of negative connotations from the misplaced Master of the Dark Arts.

"This is a mistake, I'm just gonna stay back here until things fix themselves if you don't mind," explained the blonde conjurer as he tried to close the door, his body frozen in place ever since the stall-door was opened. "Stay? No no no, you're gonna be our little entertainment for the evening. Haven't had one like you in quite a while," threatened the Texan as he reached in and grabbed John by his shirt collar, dragging him out of the stall and into the rest of the newly-changed bathroom. "Hey, let me go you creep," complained the dragged individual as the crowd came into better view, looking like a mix of bikers and leather-enthusiasts all in one. His theory about the time-dilation was right though as the sinks, pillars and other stalls were all different from the basement bathroom he was initially investigating; John gulping as he thought of how he was going to get out of this mess; especially as he didn't have any of his normal gadgets and charms by his side.

Lying down on the grimy floor, already covered in cum from his shoe-licking, John looked up at the swarm of men who were eyeing their new toy, grinning and laughing while stroking their boners through their underwear or pants. "Look at that boys, erect as fucking pole. You're loving this aren't you?" mocked the Texan as he gently rested his boot against the lying prey's erection, still throbbing from the earlier stroking and touching. It felt nice to have the man's boot press against him and despite the awkward circumstances and his best wishes, Constantine let out a sensual moan as the shoe perfectly stimulated his groin, the crowd cheering and losing themselves in eager, horny anticipation.

"Let's give you some air," spoke one of the strangers as he bent down on the sides to unzip the magician's zip, John's 8-inch cock spilling out into the open space, twitching and marinated in his own personal juices. "Jesus, what a little whore," shouted one of the drunken members as they watched the man's penis flop around, pressed and lightly 'kicked' by the Texan's boot. "Knock that off, I'd punch you if i could," spat Constantine as more and more people came closer to him, touching his body and pulling on his clothes. "Ahh Fuck!" suddenly yelled John as someone near his legs began to touch and play with his feet, the extremely sensitive limbs still draped in Dean's enchanted socks, hot and sweaty as if he had spent weeks out in the wilderness.

"Check it out, his socks are covered in cum. Sick," boasted the crouching man as he eyed the blonde prey's exposed feet, still prodding the area without realising how much of an effect they were having. "I dare you to lick it," regaled another as a small chant began to boom out, the drunken crowd shifting into maximum-gear as their horniness reached its peak levels. "No, don't you dare. Stop it!" ordered John as he tried to sit-up or at least pull his legs up towards him, his body refusing to obey, instead allowing the strangers to do as they wished. Taking a deep swig of beer from his recently-opened bottle, the dared drunkard obeyed the group and leaned in, mouth open and tongue extended; the barbaric chants increasing in both size and volume.

"FUCKING HELL!" screamed John as the man wrapped his lips around his socked toes, engulfing them within his warm, wet chasm, tongue washing over his covered toes. His feet, which had the same sensitivity and feeling as his own cock, felt as if it were dipped into a velvet, molten asshole; squished and squeezed and milked by the most complex expert in the field. "No way," remarked the astonished Texan as he watched John ejaculate and spasm on the floor, biting his lip and shaking as ropes of cum emerged from his 8-inch cock, fountaining out all over his pants as well as the Texan's boot which was still pressed against the veiny member. The conjurer felt like he was dying and being reborn all at once as his whole body orgasmed violently, his toes curling and gliding together as the sock-induced sweat lubricated his foots' movements.

"Gross, do you ever wash your feet? Tastes like a months worth of sweat," spat the dared man as he downed the rest of his alcohol, slumping over to the side to take a breather and clear his senses of the magician's cum-soaked socks and feet. "Boy, you really are something else. I've never met someone who could cum like that, from nothing. Clean this up," whispered the boot-wearing man as he removed himself from John's crotch, snapping his fingers as he laid out his orders; John still panting like a pig as his orgasm continued to pulse within his system. His body, now responsive, sat-up in a quick motion and manoeuvred itself onto all four's, his back arched downwards with his face only an inch off the grimy, dirty ground.

"Oh, now you decide to move. Of course its for something like this," bitched John under his breath as he was shoved into the cum-soaked boots, forced to lick up his mess by both his uncontrolled body and the dominant man towering over him. He was used to this now and decidedly just went along with the flow, slurping up his fresh, hot semen and guzzling it down. "Yea, look up at me as you fill your maw boy, i wanna see your eyes sparkle as you drink your own jizz," teased the man as he continued to touch his crotch in broad strokes, his abs and macho physique spilling out between his leather harness and tattered jacket. Doing as he was told, John looked up with a mouthful of cum and made direct eye-contact, small droplets dripping down his chin and onto the floor below, emphasising his swallowing with a loud gulping sound.

-

As his attention was focused on other matters, the 38 year old barely noticed that his clothing had been pulled apart and even ripped open in certain areas by some of the horny drunks, his pants especially now dotted with tears that exposed his hairy, muscular body below. His socks, which were still wrapped around his feet and warm to the touch, 'called out' to some of the men in the bathroom, the entranced members dropping onto their knees as if worshipping the feet as their God. Reaching out to touch and stroke, their claims were rewarded as every rub across the socks fuelled their own libido's and cocks, their penises spilling out, throbbing wildly. John squirmed as his sensitive feet were played with like toys but his shouts and cries were subdued as he continued to clean and polish the pair of boots before him, channelling his moans into the supple leather.

"Must. Cum. Onto. Socks," moaned the enchanted individuals as they used one hand to worship their Idol and the other to draw out their offering, pumping away at their shafts at almost superhuman speeds, their hushed moans gaining the attention of the other bathroom inhabitants who watched on with intrigue. "How about you give this a good polish, we all know you're just a cock hungry slut," offered the booted Texan as he unveiled his curled monster from its leather prison, his musky penis emerging and growing to its 11-inch length within a few seconds. Kneeling down so that John could remain on all four's, the dominant man rested his manhood against the blonde conjurer's face, tapping it and wiping the excess pre-cum on his clear cheeks.

Giving up his resistance and looking on with subtle jealousy at the huge organ, John began the process of wrapping his cum-drenched mouth around the penis, wincing as the strong flavour replaced the taste of semen; washing his palate anew. "Oh yea, show Daddy what you can do," moaned the man as he placed his hand on the back of John's head and pulled, bringing the 38 year old closer to his hairy frame, sinking more and more of his cock inside the experienced hole. Constantine gagged as natural but relished the feeling of a pulsing tool dumping its pre-cum onto his tongue, washing it down with every breath he took. Men around the duo, took out their own penises and hovered around the blonde magician, stroking themselves and praying that their rods would receive the same treatment.

As his top-half devolved into a cock-sucking whore, his bottom-half remained the primary fixation for a select few, their minds empty as they carried out their sole task. As if receiving orders from an otherworldly being, the 4 hypnotised worshippers carried out their Master's commands, dedicated to John's feet, socks and shoes. One by one, they approached John's feet, crawling on their legs and gently peeled down the black, cum-soaked socks; revealing the sweaty sole and heel of John Constantine. As if spurred on from the feel, sight and smell alone of the half-exposed foot, they came directly onto the rippling flesh; dousing the size-12 paws in their sacrificial seed. Once they were done, they would re-dress the socks and give the area a quick massage with their hands, smearing their salty cum and trapping it within the enchanted silk material. This process was repeated until all 4 had emptied their balls of everything they had, a thick sludge now coating the two feet in their entirety. Finished with part one, one of the brainwashed figures trudged back to the initial stall and retrieved the kicks which were only half-cleaned by the 38 year old, slipping them back onto the man's feet.

Felling his loafers slip back onto place, John was slightly thankful that he had gotten them back, unaware of what had transpired as his mouth was being used as a portable fleshlight, face-fucked with 8-inches of meat that slid easily down his throat. "Fuck yea you little slut, gag for me, choke on my dick!" muttered the Texan as he held John's head still as he thrusted his beefy hips without regard or caution, pools of saliva spilling from the area. Some of the bathroom residents,who were turned up to maximum by the mere sight of Constantine the foot and cum-slut, spilled their loads all over his body, his torn clothes now given a fresh dose of the pearly substance, a lot seeping through the holes and onto his skin below. The 38 year old's body felt incredibly hot and sweaty as he continued to service the men, his hands working automatically to give out as many handjobs as possible; his arms burning as his feet were wet and slimy within his boiling shoes.

"I wanna deposit this in your ass, not here," moaned the perspiring Texan as he pulled himself away at the last possible moment, Constantine gasping and sputtering for air before being immediately plugged again by another stranger; moisture forming in his eyes as his mouth was stretched and used like a portable toy. He could smell the sweet scent of semen all around him as more loads were shot onto his hair and face, as well as feel slow trickles of the creamy fluid slipping down his body. As much as he still wished he was back in control, his horny body seemed to finally be thinking along his wavelength, his inner cock-slut emerging to do what it did best. "Ahh fuck me," mouthed a frothy John as he quickly swallowed the newest cum-shot that was deposited in his dripping mouth, a sea of white coating his tongue and inner-cheeks like foam on top of a coffee.

-

"I'm not too sure im comfortable with this, usually guys take things a lot slower with me," requested Constantine as he was tied up with ropes and lifted up in front of the long mirror, suspended off the cum-spattered ground. There was a makeshift sling positioned below to support his back and he was essentially sitting in midair, his arms raised and kept apart with ropes as his legs received the same treatment. His ass was exposed as well as his feet which dangled helplessly, shoes still pulsing with their crimson heat, semen and sweat mixing together and swirling around his size-12 paws; trapped. "Shut it, you don't get to be prudish with that much cum plastered all over you," laughed one of the attendee's as he stroked himself, eager to be the first to make use of the blonde man's hole.

His clothes, a mixture of tatters and stains at this point, did John no good as his sexy frame peeked in through all the numerous gaps; his shoes now starting to crinkle and deteriorate as the enchantment enacted its toll. His manhood, still drained from earlier, dangled between his ripped zipper, beads of pre-cum and leftover cum pooling on his sensitive head. The ropes were tightly bound around his wrists and ankles and he couldn't escape even if he wanted too; now at the mercy of the leftover men who hadn't had a chance to empty their balls. It wasn't ideal, but even if he regained control right this second, there wasn't much the conjurer could do; a deep sigh escaping his salty lips. "C'mon then, show me what you got," regaled John as a new burst of tension psyched him up.

The loudmouth from before immediately stepped forwards and angled his shaft against the hairy asshole, pushing a few of the others out of the way to be first in line. His member was huge and John winced as he felt its spongy-head begin to prod against his entrance, not even lubricated with a quick rimjob. "Jesus Mate, you're gonna tear me apart," moaned Constantine as he tried his best to open up his ass, biting his bottom lip and clenching his fists; his warnings seemingly falling on deaf ears. Thrusting hard and fast as if his erection had a time limit, the man skewered his bound prey with a low howl, throwing his head back as his 10-inch organ parted through the doorway. John was no stranger to cocks, both human and non-human, but this was probably the only time he could recount where he wasn't properly prepared beforehand, taking a deep breath in preparation.

"FUCKING HELL!" yelled John as he squirmed and thrashed midair, a sharp pain emerging from his asshole, breathing heavily to mitigate the damage. Loud cheers emerged from the others as their whore's cherry was popped, all eager to sink their own meat between his juicy cheeks. The pain quickly faded as the man continued to spit on his own member, thrusting slowly and deeply in a constant rhythm; John wishing he did that before he began penetrating him. Two of the men from before, once again 'called into action' as the sexual act began its crescendo, approached John's feet as he was barebacked, their eyes hazy as their new task was mentally assigned to them. Reaching out with their hands, each took control of one of the loafers, their digits rubbing and touching in soft and forceful motions.

"Oh, fuck me harder you little pansy," whispered the 38 year old as he slipped into his cock-hungry phase, closing his eyes as he focused entirely on the massive dick slipping into his tunnel, moaning graciously as his hole was stretched open; more than ready for the future onslaught of the crowd. His feet, still drenched in a puddle of his sweat and semen were singing out praise as they were massaged, limiting the pain while increasing the pleasure. His large paws felt as if there were melting into a molten bath, tinged with raw bliss as the loafers were worshipped once more. No one seemed to notice the two foot-sluts carrying out their mission, too busy watching the blonde conjurer getting brutally fucked right before him.

Slipping off the shoes and carefully placing them on the floor, the thick, cum-coated socks finally made an appearance, absolutely reeking of sweat and semen that had been slowly microwaved over the past hour or so. The scent seemed to disperse and cloud around the room, converting anyone and everyone who inhaled even a small whiff of the powerful odour, all falling under the same mysterious spell as the others. Peeling the two wet socks off their Master's feet, they rolled the silk wraps inside out to preserve the cum within, damp and warm to the touch. "Oh wow, that's cold all of a sudden," remarked John as his unveiled feet were finally exposed, glistening as the pale bathroom light shone upon them. It was a sight to behold and the two hypnotised individuals smiled as they eyed the revealed paws, still holding the bunched up socks in each of their hands.

"FUCK!" yelled the breeder as he finally dumped his load inside the 38 year old's hole, his cock quivering as it ejected its pent-up load. John, opening his eyes finally to moan as his ass was filled, came across a weird sight, the drunken crowd now quiet and solemn as they watched him with clouded eyes, now given a new task. The loudmouth, turning around to see why everyone was acting so weirdly also immediately converted as he inhaled the boiled scent, taking a step back into the crowd. "What's happening? Just when i was enjoying myself," asked John as droplets of semen began to drip from his gaping hole, travelling down his ass-cheeks and falling towards the ground with a noticeable splat. This was the first time the group had been this quiet and the blonde magician knew that couldn't be a good sign.

"What is it now," sighed John angrily as he looked around the room from his roped position, enjoying his penetration only to have it taken away from him once again. The leather-wearing crowd was silent, though the two initial foot-worshippers stepped forward and made themselves present, each holding one of the enchanted socks as if they were hand grenades. "Wait, what is this? You can't be serious," lamented the blonde conjurer as they began to toy and play with his dripping hole, spreading his doorway apart with their fingers; pulling with an intense force. "Ahh fuck!" groaned the suspended magician as spurts of creampie flowed out of him, finally pulled back to the ground by gravity. "The offering will be made," spoke one of the worshippers as they literally balled up the creamy sock and stuffed it inside the gaping hole, pushing it deep into John's winding, wet tunnel.

"What the FUCK!" screamed John as he felt the cum-soaked silk bury itself in his widened asshole, the socks already uncurling within and draping itself around and across his prostate. Its pulsing heat immediately took ahold of him, the enchanted garment oozing both magical energy and collected semen from before, causing John to writhe and shiver in both pleasure and unholiness. "Take it out, I'm ok with dicks but c'mon!" complained the man as he tried to free himself from his rope shackles, eyes heavy as the stuffed sock continued to corrupt his desires and motives. "Silence," spoke the other as he positioned himself near John's head and reached up, brutally shoving the other sock in his mouth like a basketball through a hoop. Muffled screams came from his mouth and despite his best efforts, he would need his hands to properly remove the makeshift gag, already halfway down his throat that if he wasn't careful, he could literally choke.

The taste of his sweat, shoes filled his mouth, strong and salty as if we were licking an unwashed foot for hours on end. The cum that had soaked into the silk fibres was rich and tangy, overpowering his senses til he couldn't even smell or taste anything else. Like a constant tap, droplets of the drenched semen leaked onto the roof of his mouth or straight down his throat, coating his vocal chords in a thick batter that made his cries for help both wet and gurgly. Looking back down with socks now plugging both ends of his sweaty, bound body, the crowd seemed to change in formation, all given a second resurgence of both energy and willpower. Members who he knew were already drained were given back their throbbing erections, pre-cum oozing out of their slits like unbroken waterfalls. With angry eyes, John watched as they approached, all eager to offer their blessings to their new idol.

-

"Ahh fuck me!" yelled a muffled 38 year old whore through his sock-gag as another thick load was shot inside of his ass, drenching the curled sock within in a fresh torrent of semen. His feet, still covered in replenishing cum were constantly being cleaned and licked by the crowd before given a new coat of salty batter; the process repeating over and over; the cum flowing from their cocks at a never-ending rate. His size-12 paws tingled as they sucked on his toes and lapped at his heels, the sludge of nectar enhancing the sensations to the point that he felt his mind begin to slip away, strong pangs of innate pleasure mixed with the continuous tickling of tongues. There was a huge puddle of semen below him as their heavy creampies flowed out of his gaping hole, the bathroom looking as if someone spilt an entire gallon of milk on the floor, still spreading as more and more cum was added to the mix.

One of his plastered shoes was draped over John's erect cock and bounced as he pounded in the rope sling, the other a centre of attention for a bukkake across the room. His cheeks were flush, his ass was humming and his stomach was full of the cum that he was unconsciously slurping down from the sock, the strong flavour no longer registering at the same level as before. It was the gangbang to end all gangbangs, his winding tunnel more white than flesh as thick rivers of semen painted his insides; the sock within still nestled in place and secured adjacent to his pulsing prostate. He never knew that this would be the predicament he would find himself in when he accepted the initial contract, his mind foggy as he tried to remember the details of who he was.

"I told you I'd finish in this such way," interjected a familiar voice as the Texan pushed himself to the front of the crowd, his balls full and ready to be drained the old fashioned way. Moaning and furrowing his brow at the sheer size of the man's cock, John was powerless to get in his way, his stretched hole now the public's plaything. "I'm gonna cream you so hard you'll fucking explode," mused the beefy man as he slipped his entire shaft inside the wet, lubricated hole, eager to churn the cum within. Thrusting hard and fast without restraint, loud 'sloshing' sounds emerged as his thick rod pushed and prodded, Constantine moaning through muffled gasps as he was anally pleasured. He was content with his new role, his inner cock-slut emerging to the point that he chastised his previous self for being so prudish; thinking that if he could turn back time, he would emerge from the stall, mouth and ass already prepared for cum and cocks.

His feet, rubbed and sucked vigorously at the same time were brimming with bliss, his toes coated in so much spit and cum that it looked as if they would evolve gills at some point in the near future. Pleasured in such a powerful, all-encompassing manner, John hadn't even realised that the enchanted shoe affixed to his erection was drawing cum from his own balls, the insides now coated in a fresh paint of the magician's seed. The runes from before were barely visible underneath the coating of nectar but they glowed as powerfully as before, their magic nearly depleted as the enchantment began to dampen and wear off. John was too busy to notice as his ass was fucked without care or concern, just the way he liked it; trails of semen flowing down his ass-cheeks and onto the puddle below.

"You're gonna get it now boy, you're just a fucking disgrace is what you is!" dirty-talked the Texan as his massive testicles swung like a bulls, eager to dump their loads in the silkiest ass in the world; John's moans morphing into screams through the gag as the sex increased in both vigour and speed. "FUCK YOU!" screamed the Texan as he sunk his cock right to the hilt, bellowing a guttural howl as his load pulsed through his penis and into the awaiting receptacle, the room stopping their actions as the extreme reaction sounded out. John felt an incredible hotness fill his gaping corridor, as if molten lava had been poured directly inside his guts, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he was creampied violently. There was nothing to compare and everything before this moment felt like a pin-drop, his standards for anal sex now permanently altered.

The literal flood in his asshole was cut short as the sounds of ropes snapping suddenly came through the orchestra of howling and moaning, John falling to the wet, cum-soaked floor with a slippery thud, muffled curses spilling out as he crashed. Landing on his back and luckily not hitting his head against the tiles, John lay there in a puddle of creampie like the degenerate he was, his stained clothes now given a new coating of seed. The crowd immediately rushed over but it wasn't to help the man, it was to finish whatever weird thing they had started. Taking the shoe off the conjurer's cock, still hot to the touch and already slightly filled with John's own seed, they positioned right under gaping hole, like a cup under a barrel of beer. Feeling a slight pressure being applied to his stomach as the Texan stood over him, John moaned loudly as he was pumped empty.

He felt a surge of semen begin to push and emerge from his asshole, like an enema only hotter and thicker in nature; as if his ass was an underground pump for clear water. The gag, still firmly emplaced in his throat kept his pleasurable moans to a minimum, though he could definitely feel his body begin to lighten as the accumulated creampies were literally pushed out. Laughs and jeers emerged from the crowd as they filled the shoe with the milky nectar, swirling the footwear around as if it were a mug of ale. Right when he thought he was empty, one of the worshippers reached their hand in and pulled out the wet sock, John screaming as a hand travelled deep inside of his ass. It was both incredible and barbaric all at once, the magician unsure if he had been blessed with Heaven's favour or if this was Hell's vengeance for his sinful past.

-

With the ropes around his hands finally loosened, John quickly shoved his hand into his mouth and pulled out the completely slick and slimy sock, choking as he tugged on the silken material. Almost throwing up a mountain of guzzled semen in the process, John calmed himself and tossed the wet garment aside, wiping his lips which were moist with salty batter. Sitting up and breathing heavily as his ass continued to pulse against the cold, tiled floor, the man could only look up at the crowd who continued to hover around him, the bathroom reeking of their combined musk as well as the sickly scent of cum. He could already feel the effects of the time dilation begin to fade, a lot of the members slowly fading away as he was transported back to his original period, the shoes still humming and glowing brightly.

"Here, have something for the road," spoke the tired Texan as he grabbed the cum-filled footwear from one of the other worshippers, reaching down and angling John's head backwards, using his fingers to open his tongue. Unable to fight back as his body was still out of his control, the magician closed his eyes and winced as he was fed his own creampie which had been poured from his tunnel, messily slurping down the seed as it was poured into his open mouth. The semen was thicker than ever, like a milkshake made with both cement and sand; the numerous loads mixing together into an oily bath of salt and musk. His chin was white as his maw overflowed with the viscous liquid, his stomach and throat only able to contain so much before overloading his senses. He felt the substance seep into his very cells, the aftertaste no doubt going to linger for the next week or so; enough protein in one serving to keep him going for months on end.

As awful as it tasted and as strong as it reeked, the 38 year old felt that he got what he deserved or better yet, wished for, guzzling the cum like the whorish dumpster that he was. Finished with his last serving of fresh cream, the remaining worshippers gathered his things and put things back in order; retrieving his other shoe as well as his socks which had been strewn across the sauna-like bathroom. The man shivered as he felt the wet, cold socks being draped across his body, contrasted against his warm shoes which were soon slid back onto his wriggling paws. They began to fade away as the enchantment finally came to an end, the glowing pausing before a similar flash of light sounded out from the mirror, blinding the man who sat against the tiled wall; clothes ripped and covered in enough cum to literally slide home if he could find a hill steep enough. "Fucking hell," whispered John as he was transported back, closing his eyes to retain his retinas.

-

"Mr. CONSTANTINE!" yelled a familiar voice as John snapped himself awake, met with the Dryad from before who was looming over him, bent down to meet his gaze. "Huh what? What happened? How long was i gone?" mumbled the soaked conjurer as he tried to get up, still tried beyond belief from his ordeal. The bathroom had recoiled back to its original state, the floors and walls as clean and crisp as when he first entered; unlike his current status which was slowly ruining the cleanliness. "You were gone for about 10 minutes ... what happened?" asked the magical being as he took a step back, branch-like eyebrow cocked at the overpowering state of his hired help, luckily not possessing a proper nose which would positively dissolve if exposed to John's gross odour.

"10 minutes? Of fucking course," whispered John as he tried to reach into his tattered trenchcoat for a cigarette, fuming when he realised that not only was the expensive garment ruined beyond repair, but that he hadn't had a proper puff in what felt like days on end. "Is this ... ectoplasm? Did you come into contact with spirits of some nature?" asked the Dryad as it pooled a small amount of fluid from the ground, only realising it was literally dripping from the man's opened asshole; lips curled as it wiped the revealed substance across the man's leg. "I'll get someone to help clean you up," spoke the being as it got up as quickly as possible and left the room, unsure if otherworldly gangbangs would fall under the company's health-insurance policy or not.

Left to his own for a bit, John eyed his tattered shoes which were also damaged as the enchantment came to an explosive finale, his mind focused on one aspect in particular; his concentration giving him the energy and willpower to continue to sit upright. "Dean," whispered the blonde, cum-soaked man in utter hatred as he formulated a way to punish his despicable roommate, wondering if maybe he should chuck the man into the same bathroom with his own enchanted clothing and lock the door. The thought gave his erection a small stir and John knew right then and there what would be the perfect punishment for the novice demon-hunter; a wide grin forming across his cum-spattered face.

-

"How was I supposed to know all of that would happen John! It's not my fault you didn't check your auras," yelled Dean as he ducked and dodged a literal chair being thrown at him, a loud crash emerging as the furniture collided with the fridge. "You dirty likeefucking hamster, I'm gonna crush you like the pissant that you are!" screamed a rage-induced John as he picked up whatever items he could find in the vicinity, throwing them harshly in hopes that they would strike their target. "It was a practical joke, they were supposed to start moving around on their own, that's all," explained Dean as he ducked behind the marble counter-top, shards of glass from several vases spilling down as they smashed into the wall opposite him. "Your little practical joke got me dunked into a cum smoothie you fucking idiot!' fumed Constantine as he reached into his sack of goodies which he had to lug home on his own; on account of his wrecked trenchcoat and pants.

"Well lets be honest, you're not exactly the virgin Mary are you," snarkily replied Winchester, still with a few tissues shoved up his nose to block out the powerful stench of gallons of cum; previously retching as soon as the blonde magician returned home in a fit. "That does it!" howled the 38 year old as he found the talisman he was searching for, pulling it out of the large bag and holding it firmly in front of him, closing his eyes to concentrate. Whispering a dead language and focusing his remaining energy, a pink wave of energy began to pulse from the star-shaped item, travelling directly towards Dean who was still hiding in fear of blunt trauma to the head in the form of flying cutlery.

"Hey, whoa, what's happening?" interjected the older roommate as he was magically lifted up off the ground, his limbs no longer his to control; a rightful penance in his own right. Opening his eyes with a cocky smile, John tested out his new puppet-master abilities, slightly angling and moving the object in his hand and testing its effects on its new victim. "Isn't so fun now is it, fucking moron," muttered the blonde conjurer as he walked towards his room, Dean trudging behind like the obeying servant he was; lips sealed for the time being. "I was thinking how I was going to get back at you, and what better way than to have our own little theatre production. Except this time, you'll be playing me," mused the 38 year old as he closed his door and forced Dean down onto his messy bed, eager to explain the script before exacting his own dose of revenge.

"Get those fucking things out of your nose so you can truly get an understanding," chastised John as he closed the door to his room and reached over to pull the twisted tissues out, throwing them them to the floor behind him. Though Dean couldn't speak on account of the talisman, he could definitely react to the overpowering aroma of cum, mixed with both sweat and heat that perfumed into a sickly cloud. The insides of Dean's nose burned as he unwillingly inhaled the odour, turning his head away in an attempt to distance himself. "Oh don't worry, you'll get used to this," continued Constantine as he moved on with his scheme, planning out the scene on the way home.

"The part you may not understand about your little prank is that the shoes and socks that you enchanted became the majority. If you don't know what i mean, maybe see what those animals did to them," explained the magician as he lifted each foot up and pulled the shoes off his feet, a trail of cum pouring out from the heel and onto the floor below; frothy and bubbly from the walking, or in John's case, stomping. "I had to drink cum from this, GALLONS OF IT. This was my chalice," yelled John as he took a deep and pleasurable whiff of the battered, caked shoe; the aroma having no effect on his saturated senses. "These, were stuffed in my throat and ass respectively, before being cummed on and trodden on by yours truly," recounted John, peeling off his wet socks and holding them both in one hand, dangling them around like a live fish; stringy ropes of semen falling off onto the floor and Dean's lap.

John almost slipped on his slimy feet as he walked to pick up the talisman once again, cursing loudly as he almost broke his neck. "So, time for a little payback," finished the controlling conjurer as he reversed parts of the charm and re-opened Dean's mouth, the older roommate barely having a chance to talk before his mouth was stuffed with the same two socks. "You like that? That's the taste of stale cum and my fucking foot sweat. Drink it down you goddamn worm!" yelled John as he exacted his revenge, making up the next parts of his plan as he went along. "How about we really complete the scene. You wouldn't be John Constantine without his shoes after all," babbled the man as he slipped his wet, cum-soaked loafers onto Dean's bare-feet, the man shivering as the un-enchanted but dirty footwear shrouded his own paws. "Looks like a tight squeeze, but don't worry, there's enough cum there to lubricate a fucking tank," chastised John as he forced Winchester's size-13 paws into the smaller shoes, a churning sound emerging as he slipped into the footwear.

Dean was horrified and overwhelmed all at once, his senses on fire as his mouth was flooded with the awful taste of his roommates filthy socks, the delicious taste of cum ruined by the strong fleck of sweat and dirt which contaminated the mixture. With two socks stuffed in his gullet, Winchester could barely breathe let alone remove the gag, his limbs hanging by his sides as he sat on the edge of the bed. John had truly lost it, a feverish look of crazed despair coating his expressions; no doubt an after effect of the time dilation ... which would hopefully pass. "Oh yea, you like that? Like it when strangers fucking touch you and your feet as if they owned you?" questioned Constantine as he bent down on his knees and began to rub and massage Dean's feet through his battered, broken shoes, small puddles of cum pushing through the holes as he applied pressure; pooling on the wooden floor like a gaze.

As crazy as it was, Winchester could feel his loins begin to stir from the sexual foreplay, seeing John in such a bestial light really ticked one of his fantasies of the younger man dominating him. Though he could do without the disgusting socks shoved in his mouth, he couldn't deny that the frenzied magician on the floor before him was slowly turning him on; especially given his tattered and broken-down state of wear. "I bet you'll love this, I know I DID," groaned a kneeling Constantine as he pulled the shoes off of Dean and began to lick the size-13 feet as if they were lollipops, drinking his own cum/sweat concoction of his roommates feet. He moaned, groaned and gyrated in pleasure as he sucked on the salty toes and brushed his tongue across the heel and sole, gargling the thick nectar as if it were a fine wine. Whenever he'd run out of cum, he'd shake the shoes as if they were sauce dispensers at a restaurant, adding just a few more droplets of liquid sin to his snack.

Dean couldn't help but moan as his large paws were given expert, enthusiastic treatment, licked and cleaned all over; His vocal tyrations were muffled by the gag but his body didn't lie, his sweatpants tenting as his armpits also began to release their masculine musk; chest heaving as he switched into fight-or-flight. "You little slut, enjoying this are we?" mocked John as he continued to polish the feet with his mouth, shoving them into his mouth while avoiding his teeth, slurping on the salty flesh as if it were his last meal on Earth. Picking up one his shoes, the blonde 38 year old began to hold it over his nose as he continued to lick at Dean's heels, breathing it deeply like a drug or aromatic as his tongue lapped up the last molecules of semen. It was an erotic sight for the seated man to witness and he could already feel his boner begin to leak beads of pre-cum; staining the front of his pants.

Hungry for a fresh dose of cum as the deposits from both of his shoes ran dry, John raised himself up on his knees and reached forwards, pulling the elastic band towards him and down his roommates legs. Eyeing the throbbing erection which pulsed and oozed, the conjurer wasted no time and began to slurp down on the organ, bobbing his head up-and-down and loosening his jaw, tugging on the man's balls as he blew him. "Oh fuck," muffled Winchester as he was sucked-off for the first time in months, still slowly drinking the mixture of semen, sweat and saliva which pooled in his mouth, gulping every so often to keep the air flowing through his stinging nostrils. "You're the dirty fucking whore, enjoying this with two socks in your mouth," muttered the 38 year old as he looked up his large brown eyes, easily swallowing the 9-inch sword; tapping it against his tongue in an effort to suck down a fresh, creamy load.

Moving his attention towards the source, John began slurping on the two balls that hung underneath, tasting the raw testosterone beneath. He was like a frenzied bloodhound, only his senses pointed towards the rich taste and flavour of cum; the twin orbs engorged after a lengthy dry spell. Dean's moans slowly boiled into panting whines as he got closer and closer to ejaculation, the man's tight ball-sucking undoubtedly spurring on his sexual prowess, pre-cum shooting out like a leaking pipe. "C'mon, gimme that seed, I want it inside me, fill me up," moaned a slutty John as he licked and lapped at this sensitive piss-slit, eager to finally gulp down his sexy roommates spunk. Moaning uncontrollably as sweat leaked out of every pore of his body, Dean threw his head back as he felt a torrent of semen begin to spout from his 9-inch fountain, John angling his open mouth to catch every droplet, leaving none to waste.

Seeing John hungrily slurp the nectar only pushed Dean's orgasm into Godly territory, his eyes rolling around as his crotch and loins literally shook as a result of the powerful sensation. Constantine, swirling the thick batter around his mouth, lifted himself up to Dean's eye-level and pulled the two socks out with his hands, letting them rest on the bed. With a mouth full of his roommate's seed, he leaned forwards and harshly kissed the older man, snowballing the mixture back-and-forth, their tongues like shovels. It was a sweet gesture and the 40 year old accepted the make-out session, his own, hot and creamy cum-shot adding to the emplaceable feeling. They moaned into one another, wet tongues battling as the cum was soon distributed and eventually swallowed by both panting parties; both men wanting to do that for a LONG time now.

-

"We're just getting started," groaned a naked John Constantine as he angled his roommate into position with the wooden talisman, chuckling to himself as Dean's bare ass was propped and ready for him. "You can fuck me no problem, you don't have to bound me like this," argued the presenting man as his cheeks and legs were spread on the side of the bed, sweaty from the earlier foreplay. "Nope, If i couldn't be released, neither can you," teased John as he placed the talisman down, eager to finally fuck someone for a change, his manhood jumping at the chance. Resting his meat between Winchester's crack, the older roommate moaned as he felt the pulsing heat press into his nether regions, biting his lip as he hot-dogged the organ. "Fucking slut," yelled the conjurer as he slapped Dean's cheek repeatedly with his hand, letting out a ton of residual anger in the process; feeling a lot nicer afterwards.

A red hanfprint appeared on the demon-hunter's ass but he weirdly enjoyed the pain and tickle, the feeling reminding him of earlier encounters with his brother. "Let's lube this hole up," whispered Constantine as he spat on his hand, noticing the two socks from earlier which were resting on the mattress. With a wicked smile, the blonde 38 year old reached forwards and wiped the two socks against Dean's asshole, transferring the assorted slime and spit onto the unused entrance. Dean moaned as the cold tincture was applied, resting his head against a pillow as he was left to the mercy of his slightly younger roommate. "Yea that's the spirit, nice and gooey," mused John as he wiped his fingers in and around the entrance, licking his lips as his prey shivered and moaned in anticipation.

"Actually, I've got an idea," sparked the magician as he held the other silken sock between his hand, still incredible wet to the touch, as if he just fished it out of a body of water. Stretching it out and opening it up, John slipped the spunk-laced sock over his erection, pulling it down over his balls like an incredibly large condom. "Oh yea, now we're talking," moaned John as he gave himself a few practise strokes, the wet material gripping onto his penis without moving, vacuum-sealed into place. Dean, having no clue what was happening waited for the inevitable, a small trail of moisture leaking from his hole and down his thigh towards the sheets.

"Now its payback time!" confidently fumed the blonde conjurer as he pressed his sock-covered shaft against the lubed hole, making tiny, prodding movements to better open up the door. "What is that, it feels ... rough?" questioned Dean as his sensitive ass was about to be fucked with a makeshift condom, pre-cum flowing from John's spongy-tip. Thrusting his muscular hips while holding Dean's cheeks in his hands, the penetration finally occurred, both roommates groaning loudly as their bodies connected and joined together. "Oh yea, you're so fucking tight," panted John as he began to pick up speed, the silk 'condom' staying attached as it was churned in-and-out of Dean's tunnel. "This is weird," commented Dean as he felt a scratchy texture rub against his velvet corridor, though the sheer wetness and lubrication prevented any pain or discomfort.

Pinning the older man down under his weight, John truly began to buck his steed, loud, slurping noises emerging as his cock pummelled the mischievous man; his anger fading away with each pleasurable insertion. "Ahh fuck, your cock feels so good!" gasped Winchester as he felt his asshole begin to open and widen; almost forgetting the real feeling of an actual cock in comparison to his dildo which had accompanied him for months on end. "Yea you like that, you little slut? Just a sock-sucking whore aren't you?" dirty-talked Constantine as his balls slapped against the man's taint, a blissful thud emanating as his orbs were swung around. The sock for the most part was holding on quite nicely, John making a mental note to use his dirty socks for other things in the future before their eventual wash.

"Fuck me John! I've wanted this for so long," mewled Winchester as his ass was vigorously dominated and pounded, the neighbours below and above their apartment undoubtedly lodging complaints as the two supernaturally-inclined individuals took out their emotions on one another; John more than Dean of course. "Want me to creampie you? Flood your guts with my cum?" mused John in a low hush as he strengthened his blows, his shaft quivering in preparation. for a huge and mighty load of spunk. "Fill me up," gasped Dean, unable to properly move but still enjoying the rough fucking as much as anyone; the feeling of powerlessness and domination unlocking a new fetish deep in his soul.

"JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!" screamed John after a few moments as he sunk himself fully, his cock exploding as spunk rushed out of his urethra; shooting through the silken sock as if it were a filter. "Oh yea, cream me," moaned the older roommate as he felt John pull out of him, a small trail of semen following. "Wow, now that is fucking hot," complimented John as he pulled the creamy sock off his cock, a large amount of his seed accumulating in the same manner as a condom. Holding it up, small droplets began to leak out of the bottom, but the majority stayed inside the silken shell. Reaching over behind him, John undid the talisman's charm and Dean immediately slumped into the bed, quickly turning and stretching as he regained control of his body.

"What the fuck? Did you use a sock as a condom? Is that why it felt so fucking weird?" questioned Dean as he looked at the man holding his prized possession, like a vendor trying to sell a stalk of fruit in a market. "You thirsty?" proposed John as he leaned forward and began to lick the creamy sock, gesturing for Dean to join him in his efforts. Even though he would normally decline such a bizarre request, this day hadn't exactly been a trip into normalcy, the older demon-hunter shrugging his shoulders and joining his roommate; the mere act of sharing a cum-filled sock ... hopefully signalling that their quarrel had come to an end.


End file.
